Coming Back to the Valley
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "He was finally home.."


**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters. Wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is a drabble response to the prompt post on the LJ community _**Beware of Walkers**_. The prompt was the word: _"Valley"_. The rules were to remain in a 100 -1,000 word limit. (Which I did minus the title and all the disclaimer bits). Woo!

**Authors Note #2:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. In addition, I wanted to send a quick thank you to my reviewers.

**Coming Back to the Valley**

The night before the birth of his first child, his dear little _Makenna_, he dreamt of a valley bathed in flame. He had watched it all, powerless and immobile as the valley came alight. An inferno that built until it was all but unstoppable as wave after wave of screaming red and orange flame crashed against the greenery, simmering down deep until it was flowing through the very soil at his feet, turning root systems to ash, burning life out at its very source.

And at the time, despite jerking awake in the dead of night, frightened for reasons that he couldn't quite explain, the phantom smell of burning wood and steaming undergrowth lingering in his senses, he had _had_ to marvel at the clean cut ferocity of it.. _At the all consuming nature of the flame…It had been like nothing he had ever seen before.._

…_Magnificent, terrifying, and… cleansing?_

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he gazed out into the relative darkness of the room, quickly forgetting about the fire and flame as he looked down at the radiant, wavy haired redhead lying at his side. _His Beth._

He breathed out a long, steadying breath as she shifted in her sleep, her smooth, bare limbs tangling suggestively with his under the thin sheets, reminding him of more.._earthly_ concerns then a rogue nightmare at midnight.

He let himself fall back into the sweat soaked pillows, ignoring the cold, clammy feel of them in favour of focusing his attentions on her. It had been a long, but joyous nine months, for the both of them. And he had relished in the responsibility, joking with her when her discomfort spiked, teasing her that this was merely the first the three. She only laughed, reminding him that they had already agreed on having only two. _But he wasn't really teasing. He just knew. _Much like in the same way he had _just known_ the moment that vivacious red haired bombshell had stormed into his shop that sunny March afternoon, a virtual whirlwind of frustration and righteous indignation as she cursed rather inventively at her broken down car, that _she_ was the woman he was meant to marry.

He smiled at the memory, softly combing his long fingers through the reddish tangles that framed her lightly freckled face. She was finally asleep, blissfully unaware of anything but her own exhaustion, the baby having kept them both up, fussing restlessly in the womb.

And as he brought her in closer, pulling her body flush against his, seeking the comfort that only she could provide, his hand slipped unbidden down her stomach. And with long, calming motions he traced the outline of the life that lay inside. _His baby. Their baby._

He had known then, hours before the first contraction hit that she was on her way.

It wasn't until that day, years later, when her broken, pain filled cries had chased him back down that hallway, faster then any of the walkers growling tight at his heels, following him at a dead run down past the pictures, the memories, and the home they had built together, that he realized what that dream had meant.

Because even as the horrified, grief stricken tears had blurred his vision, and he stumbled, falling down the front porch steps in a bruised tangle of long limbs and bulky coveralls, he saw a small burst of flame light up the heart of small valley where their home stood, nestled in between the tall hills that marked the beginning of one of rural Atlanta's only wildlife preserves.

_He hadn't been able to save them. Not her. Not Beth. Not even the twins napping in their beds. His boys, quiet Ethan and exuberant Owen, two boys so alike in body, yet so different in mind. He had always told Beth there would be three.. _

And as he had revved his old tow truck to life, panic and grief making the engine momentarily flood, awash with too much fuel in the injectors far too soon, even as the walkers pounded, smashing at the glass with their blood streaked fists, just before the engine sputtered to life, in spite of the growing roar of the encroaching flames and the moans of the undead, all he could hear was the sound of his little girl, her small voice warbling out admist the chaos.

"_Daddy!"… "Daddy!"…"No!"_

He had been running from those echoes ever since.

And now, as he lay here, pain splintering through his bones as he propped himself up against the rough barked maple at his back, listening to the last, fading sounds of the others as they drove off reluctant and disheartened, their tires burning up the miles towards the CDC, he choked back a weak, self depreciating laugh as he closed his eyes against the searing Georgian sun, feeling remarkably as though everything had finally come full circle.

_It was time to stop running._

Distantly, he knew that his mind was fading, and that what he was _really_ seeing behind his closed lids was the bursting ebb and flow of his dying nerves and synapses. That his brain was slowly letting go, _dying_, even as the virus flowed through his veins, preparing his body for what was to come.

_But none of that mattered now.. It was here…. He was back.. _

It was the valley, shimmering in the heat as the fire roared down from the mountain crests, promising to meet him in the middle, nestled between the hillsides. _And this time,_ _he was ready._

And his last conscious thought as the fire over took him was that somehow, for the first time in a long time, he finally felt _whole _again. Because he knew that it was in this valley, lit up like a crimson beacon in the night, searing away the pain and the guilt, was where he had always belonged.

_..He was finally home._

**Glossary:** Name: _**Makenna**_ is a variant spelling of the "Mckenna," meaning _"born of fire."_


End file.
